


Pray to the Gods Above and Below

by Danes (orphan_account)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Prison, Artificial Intelligence, Escape, Escape from Prison, Jealousy, M/M, POV Alternating, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Danes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to the Night Vale Correctional Facility, the highest security prison in the world. You will find all sorts of criminals here-- from petty thieves, murderers, and wheat and wheat by-product dealers to a five-headed dragon, screaming pizzas, and glowing cloud deities. Today, the NVCF is proud to announce that it has finally apprehended the #1 most wanted criminal on the Shadow Government and StrexCorp's hit list: Carlos Ramirez.</p><p>Let's just hope he doesn't take advantage of having the facility's most important prisoner's heart in the palm of his hand and try to escape.</p><p>(Currently being rewritten)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He's a scumbag, don't you know?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Stars by Jukebox the Ghost. Chapter title from When the Sun Goes Down by Arctic Monkeys.
> 
> For the kinkmeme prompt: [Night Vale Prison AU](http://nightvalecommunitykink.dreamwidth.org/822.html?thread=615478#cmt615478)
> 
> its been a long time since ive been able to write anything out of newspaper worth publishing. ive been in a really bad block lately so this is awesome to get out.
> 
> If you see any mistakes, please say so and tell me where it is!

The warden flipped through the scientist's file, her frown growing deeper with every offense her eyes skimmed over. The culprit in question watched the small, elderly woman, his breathing heavy through a broken nose and a mouth full of blood.

Finally, the warden handed the file to the officer beside her and looked him in the eye. He glared back at her, his body threatening to collapse under its own weight.

"Do you know why you are here, Dr. Ramirez?" the warden asked after a moment of silence. The scientist shook his head slowly. "You are here because you broke the law. As simple as that. You violated almost every law put in place by the Shadow Government and Strex Corp., proceeded to run from the law despite the fact you were given several warnings that escape was futile, and killed several Secret Policemen trying to escape justice a second time. What do you have to say for yourself, young man?"

The man made a guttural noise in the back of his throat and spat blood on the warden's cheek. One officer produced a hankerchief and wiped the warden's face while another behind the scientist slammed his head into the table until a spot of blood began to drip from his forehead.

"That's enough, Erika," the warden whispered, standing up from her chair. The hand on the back of his head disappeared, allowing the scientist raise his head. "Take him to his cell."

A burlap sack was thrown over his head and he was lifted out of his seat roughly, but the man had no strength to fight back. He allowed himself to be dragged along twisting corridor after twisting corridor, his broken mind not truly registering the screaming that filled his ears.

The sack was pulled from the doctor's eyes and he was tossed onto a bed which creaked beneath his weight. Before the loving arms of darkness took him in, one last voice invaded his mind.

"Welcome to Night Vale, asshole."

\---

When Cecil entered the cafeteria, all the prisoners were in a quiet uproar, whispering excitedly among themselves. His journalistic curiosity ignited, Cecil slipped into the nearest table, where Earl Harlan, Steve Carlsberg, and a few other prisoners sat.

"Cecil, thank God you're here!" Steve grinned, earning a soul-withering glare from him. He did not flinch, of course, that asshole. "Did you hear about the new prisoner?"

"No, I haven't," he murmured, glancing at Earl for clarification.

"You know that guy that's been on the news? Dr. what's-his-face?" Earl said, his mouth full of pasta. Cecil rolled his eyes; of course he did! He was the one who reported on it in the first place. "Turns out the Sheriff's Secret Police caught him, and now he's here!"

Cecil's brow raised as he took in the news. Dr. Ramirez, the most wanted criminal in the world, had been caught and brought to the Night Vale Correction Facility?

"That's wonderful!" Cecil cried, a grin bursting across his face. His cellmates stared at him, confused. "Don't you guys get it? I'm going to be the first person to break this story! Oh, I wonder if I can get an interview with him."

Steve and Earl exchanged glances and shrugged, turning their attention back to their food. Cecil, however, continued to run possible scenarios in his head, poking absently at his food and staring off into the distance. What felt like hours later, an elbow jabbed the journalist's ribs and he was ripped from his fantasies.

The entire room had fallen silent, all eyes fixed on a single, slumping figure in the doorway. Cecil watched the man with the most intensity, his heart jumping into his throat as a smile spread across his bruised face. His teeth were like a military graveyard, caskets filled with the bodies of his many victims. His dark, flawless skin glowed almost angelicly in the sickly overhead lights, making Cecil want to believe angels really did exist.

It was his hair, however, that enraptured him the most. Long, curling locks that flipped in almost every direction, like the waves of the ocean had been captured and woven into his skull.

He fell in love with him instantly.

That was his first mistake.

\---

Carlos limped past the tables, embarassed and unnerved by their silence and piercing eyes. One man with bright blonde hair and a layer of gauze on the middle of his forehead caught his eye, and Carlos could not help but smile at how his mouth hung open and his violet eyes stared at him in awe. A purple tint coloured his cheeks and the man turned away, fidgeting slightly.

Once he had recieved his daily rations-- a measly piece of pepperoni pizza and a small glass of water; absolutely miserable compared to the grand buffets some prisoners had on their plates-- Carlos quickly went to a small booth in the farthest corner of the room. The inmates finally began talking once more, though much more hushed than they had been before he came in.

The scientist sighed and leaned back into the cushioned chair, staring at the pizza. Though his stomach grumbled angrily at him, he knew he couldn't eat the food. God only knows what kind of poison they put in it.

After a few minutes, Carlos began to pat down his clothing before pulling out a small, leather bound journal and a chewed up pen. The journal was flipped to a mostly blank page and the pen filled it up with inane scribbles only he could read that recounted his capture, interrogation, and the strange scene in the cafeteria.

When his hand began to cramp, Carlos hid the journal and pen in his jumpsuit and rose from his seat, grabbing his plate and throwing it into a nearby bin--

A shrill voice wailed from the trash can as the pizza levitated to eye-level, a crack spreading across the cheese to reveal a gaping maw. Carlos covered his ears and backed away from the levitating pizza, wincing in pain.

" **PRISON 24059-N**!" it shrieked, two pepperoni's above the mouth glaring disappointedly at him. " **YOU HAVE NOT CONSUMED YOUR MANDATORY SLICE OF RICO'S PIZZA. AS YOU ARE NEW TO THIS FACILITY AND HAVE NOT YET BEEN THROUGH THE REEDUCATION PROGRAM, YOU WILL NOT BE PUT TO DEATH IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS YOUR ONE AND ONLY WARNING**."

With that, the pizza returned to normal and floated into Carlos's hands. He stared at it fearfully, not sure what to do.

"Eat it. It's really good. Trust me."

Carlos looked up into the face of the violet-eyed man looking down at his with a pleasant, reassuring smile. The scientist gulped, glanced back at the pizza, then brought it to his lips. He was surprised to find his mouth filled with tastes he would later be unable to describe.

He trusted the blonde man instantly.

That was his first mistake.


	2. Monsters that walk the Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Fake Palindromes by Andrew Bird.
> 
> Sorry for such a long delay between chapters, I've been rping with my bf a lot and looking for games to play. I've been pretty unmotivated, but I was able to pump this out during school today.

At first, Javier was not sure what to make of the Night Vale Correctional Facility. From the outside, it looked like a small, dilapilated barn with strange hooded figures milling about. Honestly, it was quite disappointing; his companion had promised a sprawling town filled with bloodthirsty criminals and murderers left to be devoured by abominations and themselves.

This was just sad.

The driver door swung open with a cat-like screech and a man wearing a crisp tunic and yellow furry pants stepped out, grinning beneath his shades. "Here we are!" he cried cheerily, slamming the door shut with his heel and skipping to the trunk. "Night Vale Correctional Facility! Isn't she just beautiful? StrexCorp put a lot of work into her before putting all the architects into a gas chambers and filling their bloodstream with their patented mustard gas."

Javier opened his mouth to reply, but was quickly silenced by the sound of the trunk opening and a man screaming. His companion had insisted they take him along without a gag-- "The hooded figures love it when their voices are raw," he'd explained-- and only a zip-tie around his wrists. The man in the tunic threw his victim of his shoulder like a sack of flour and walked towards the barn, giving a cheery wave to the hooded figures as they glided towards him.

A sense of dread filled Javier once more. He was already a nervous wreck of a man, but this? This was crossing the fudging line. If it wasn't for a stupid promise (and, he would never, ever admit, ever: being so close to a serial murderer to study them firsthand without the risk of death), he would be at home, cuddling with his fiancee and watching bad horror movies.

But Javier was not a man who broke his promises. _Especially_ a pinkie promise.

With a sigh, Javier walked after his companion, searching his pockets for the anxiety pills StrexCorp had handed to him during his orientation and popped two in his mouth. Ahead of him, the man threw his victim to the side, sidestepping the hooded figures as they descended upon their sobbing prey.

As he passed the carnage, his stomach growled, and he found himself craving a bloody steak for the first time in years.

\---

Carlos had heard many rumors about this place, but that's just what they were: rumors. Stories mothers told their children to keep them in line, repeated by conspiracists in shady chatrooms.

But to be _here_ , in the flesh... it was like everything Carlos had been told about how the real world worked was thrown out of a fifth story window. He had thought it strange that his "cell" was like an unfurbished studio apartment, complete with a small kithen area, but that was nothing compared to what he saw when he stepped outside.

NVCF wasn't a prison, it was a _city_ ; there were streets filled with cars, happy families walking along the sidewalk, even a goddamn dog park!

Nausea washed over the scientist and he stumbled to a trashcan next to the door of his cell (apartment? He wasn't sure anymore). When he finished puking up his lungs, Carlos felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Prisoner 24059-N?" a soft voice chimed behind him. The scientist forced himself upright and turned around, looking into the eyes of a young man-- not even a man, a child!-- in a bright red shirt and carrying a rather large box in his arms. "I have a delivery and message from Prisoner 00001-G."

Before he could protest, the ungainly box was pushed into his arms, a growl emnating from inside, and the man disappeared. For a moment, Carlos contemplated throwing it out, but something told him otherwise. It might come in handy.

The scientist went back inside his apartment (might as well call it what is is, he decided) and set the package on the bed, which was just a mattress on the floor. He found a purple card with his name written in glitter glue and surrounded by hearts. With a frown, he reads the card aloud to himself:

"Dear Carlos,

"Welcome to Night Vale!" What was with everyone saying that exact phrase? "Please allow me to be the first to welcome you to our lovely town, if you haven't been already. When I saw you in the cafeteria today, I knew we were meant to be together! I am sorry I didn't warn you about the pizza, but I was just so nervous when I first saw you.

"Attached to this letter is a pamphlet that will tell you how Night Vale works. I understand that when you first left your apartment, you were blindfolded and taken immediately to the cafeteria, then brought back the same way. The Sheriff's Secret Policemen do this so new prisoners don't lose their way."

The letter rambled on for a few more pages, so Carlos crumpled it into a ball and stared at the package, before muttering a "fuck it" and tearing it open.

A light flashed before him and he was knocked to his ass, the room engulfed in it for barely a second before it faded. Carlos's eyes blinked open to find that his entire apartment filled with homely furniture. In the kitchen area, a kettle screeched and the smell of freshly baked pastries filled his nose.

The kettle would continue to screech for hours afterward until a faceless ghost took it off the stove and poured herself a cup of tea. Carlos had stormed out of the apartment long before that.

\---

"Madam Warden," a voice beside her breathed airily. "We have the reports you requested."

The warden frowned as she pulled her cookies out of the oven, setting them on a nearby counter. "Not now, Erika. We have guests!" she scolded, sending a smile towards the two men who sat at her kitchen table. "We must attend to them first."

The air shifted as the etheral voice left her side, sending a shiver down the spine of one of the men. The petite woman placed the cookies on a large plate and set it in the middle of the table before seating herself.

Kevin began to dig in immediately, but his companion was much more cautious, inspecting the cookie as though it were about to sprout legs and run off. "Come now, deary, they're not poisoned. I made sure myself," the warden assured the cautious man. That didn't help, however, as he went pale and set the cookie back on the plate.

"Don't worry about Dr. Ramirez," Kevin said as he wiped crumbs and dried blood from his mouth. "He's new to StrexCorp; it will take some time for him to adjust."

The doctor glanced between the warden and Kevin before offering a shaking hand. "H-Hi. I'm Javier."

The warden smiled pleasantly, the sight calming some of Javier's frazzled nerves, and took his hand with an iron hard grip. "An absolute pleasure, doctor. Mr. Free has told me _much_ about you."

Kevin blushed and avoided Javier's confused gaze, quickly changing the subject. "Well, Madam Warden, my bosses recieved your message about the prisoner and sent me here to confirm it. _I_ , however," he added boastfully, "have no doubt that you were telling the truth. You would never lie to us, much less keep such a great achievement hidden from the world."

A small chuckle was shared between the two. "It is true, Mr. Free. However, I have... some concerns about this prisoner and his containtment in this facility."

Kevin frowned, a rare expression for the man, not noticing Javier perk up at her words. "I am surprised you would have any doubts, Madam. You know very well that this facility is inpenetrable, inside or out."

She sighed, pushing a red folder that had appeared on the table from thin air towards him. Kevin snatched it up and skimmed over the black covered page; Javier wouldn't have known anything was wrong if it wasn't for the way his companion's sharp talons crinkled the sides of the folder.

"Mr. Free, I understand how delicate this... certain subject is with you, but I need your permission to deal with this matter. He is as dear to me as he is to you," the warden added.

Javier could practically feel the anger radiating off of Kevin and placed a hand on his shoulder. The man in the tunic quickly returned to normal at his touch, closing the crumpled folder and setting it back down. "I thank you, Madam Warden, for bringing this to my attention. I will file a concern to the Sheriff and deal with it from there. Come now, Dr. Ramirez. It is time to take you to your office."

Before Javier could ask what the hell that was all about, Kevin had already gotten out of his seat and opened the front door. The warden sighed and packed the cookies into a tupperware container, handing it to the doctor before shooing him out.

Ten minutes later, crammed into the passenger seat of an unusually quiet Kevin's car, Javier opened the container and picked up a small cookie filled with chocolate chips. He was gluten intolerant, but these cookies seemed far to delicious to pass up. The doctor took a small bite and found his mouth filled with tastes he wouldn't be able to describe later.

He could get used to this place.


	3. I forgive you, heathen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while for me to write this part, but I'm glad I got through it. I had the Telly scene written for the second chapter before talking to a friend and replacing it with an explanation of how the prison worked. I don't know when I'll have the next chapter up, but I hope it will be soon.
> 
> If you have any suggestions events in later chapters, please tell me! I'm looking for ways to make this fic better.
> 
> Chapter title from I Want To Be Well by Sufjan Stevens.

Telly the Barber liked cacti. That much was painfully obvious. Carlos had somehow stumbled upon his "barber shop" while walking through the prison-city and decided to step inside to rest for a moment. Until he saw the cacti.

Cacti lined almost every counter, wall, and chair, making it impossible for Carlos to keep his ill-fitting uniform from getting caught on their spines with every slight movement. The only non-cactus/barber-like object in the room was an old-fashioned radio, like the ones he saw as a child in his grandpapa's house, and an old man.

The old man had saggy yellow skin and faded green hair, standing behind a barber's chair and chatting with a large cactus as though it were a human being. He wielded a pair of wicked looking shears stained with dried blood, snipping away nonchalantly at the cactus's spines.

Before he could make his retreat, the door swung close behind Carlos and the barber turned towards him, his eyes wide with surprise.

Okay, no; that was not right. His eyes were not open, they had no fucking lids. Two vomit-colored stalks rose from the hollow caverns where his eyes should have been, were they not attached to the ends of said stalks.

The barber was in his face before Carlos could blink, one eye staring straight into his while the other inspected his head. He grinned, flashing an mouthful of pus where his teeth would be.

He was going to puke.

"You name Mr. Ramirez?" the barber croaked in a strange accent, his breath smelling faintly of pickles and rotten wood. Carlos nodded, too frightened to correct his title, and he slapped his forehead as though he had done said the obvious. "Silly Telly, of course is! Telly heard Cecil's description of you many time! Though, Telly be caught in time loop. Silly, silly Telly..."

Carlos glanced around the room, searching for any exit that wasn't guarded by cacti. "I-I'm sorry, sir," he stammered, taking a step back. "I just needed to get out of the heat for a few minutes, so I'll be going now."

"Nonsensing!" Telly screeched, grating the scientist's ears. "Mr. Ramirez Telly guest! Mr. Ramirez sit, Telly give Mr. Ramirez good cut. Very good cut. All ladies fall for Mr. Ramirez. Or men. Telly no judge."

Before he could protest, Telly pushed Carlos into an open chair and forced him down, sparing no time to wrap a cape around the man and pulling out a pair of normal sized (thank god) scissors and comb.

As the barber slowly combed through the tangles of Carlos's hair, he found himself relaxing for the first time in what had to be years. The radio droned out a smooth, luxurious voice, barely heard of the snipping of scissors, and Telly murmured nonsensically to himself about what he was doing.

When Telly finished cutting the scientist's hair, it turned out to look as though he never had curly hair at all, but a luscious head of hair that curled slightly to the side. Honestly, he felt more handsome and confident than ever before. Carlos asked Telly how he may pay him, as he didn't have a single cent on his person, but the barber waved him off and claimed it was on the house.

Later, when Carlos had long ago left the shop, a shadow consumed the building whole. Thought it stayed in this plane of existence for only a moment, Telly's shop was a pile of ashes and bricks while its owner ran for the sand wastes.

\---

After the broadcast, Dana locked Cecil in the recording booth as he "cooled down", as she called it. The man in question was barely visible beyond the black smoke and splinters from furniture thrown in rage.

The other interns cowered in the corner as Cecil threw his fit, whispering prayers to the Void to keep them safe and alive. Dana, on the other hand, sat just outside the booth, her bare feet propped up on a table as she painted her toenails.

As the senior intern and Cecil's best friend and roommate, Dana had no problem sealing the room and waiting while Cecil let out his rage. It was a usual thing for her; just another fact of life in the strange town.

When the noises died down to quiet, hiccupping sobs, Dana put her things back in order and knocked on the door, unlocking it and cracking it open slowly. Thick black smoke crawled past her, its smell making her cough.

"Cee-Cee, are you okay?" Dana called sweetly into the dark room. She was met by a choked sob from the middle of the room, where Cecil lay in fetal position. Dana was at his side immediately, helping him to his feet. "Poor Cecil," she cooed. "What made you so angry?"

"H-he cut his hair!" Cecil hiccupped, pressing his nose into her shoulder. "That bastard cut his perfect hair!"

Dana rolled her eyes and dragged Cecil out of the building and to his car, placing him in the passenger seat before getting in the driver's seat. Cecil kept babbling on and on about some guy getting a hair cut, so Dana pushed a mix tape into the cassette player and cranked it up just enough that Cecil's blubbering was drowned out.

She had her own troubles to worry about.

\---

Nothing happened in the NVCF that Steve Carlsberg did not know about. Thanks to a wide network of informants and smugglers, the local jerk (as dubbed by Cecil) knew so much that no matter how many times the Sheriff or the Warden tried to reeducate him, he easily refilled the blanks in his memory with meticulous notes, pictures, and recordings.

However, Steve's entire operation wouldn't be possible if it weren't for two people: the Apache Tracker and the Man in the Tan Jacket, his two best and most trusted agents. They had given him access to a secret bunker near his home that hadn't been used since the prison had first opened.

The bunker was completely furnished with military grade weapons and medical and scientific equipment that would've made even a pacifist have wet dreams for its power. But the thing that interested Steve the most was the supercomputer that controlled the entire place.

The supercomputer was situated at the far back of the bunker, it's monitor spanning the entire wall it sat against. Its keyboard, a large panel that rose from a compartment from the ground, was filled with images and symbols one would expect to find on an alien ship. In the middle of the panel was a large red light that projected an AI that called itself Yog-Sothoth, taking on the appearance of a female face.

When Yog first appeared to Steve, the AI had nearly short-curcuited itself in joy, crying out that they would be together forever and it would do everything in its power to be Steve's best friend. The smile on the man's face had betrayed his own joy at this statement.

With Yog's help, Steve had hacked into every camera, phone, and computer in both Night Vale and Desert Bluffs. He knew every blueprint and prisoner profile like the back of his hand and commanded his own army of smugglers, soldiers, and spies.

Over the years, the bunker became almost like an underground business place, the prisoners who haven't been driven insane by Night Vale its workers. Every day, they worked with Steve to find the prison's weakness and free themselves from their hell.

Currently, Steve Carlsberg was slumped in a chair before Yog's monitor, staring blankly at the images on the screen. The Apache Tracker stood beside him with his hands behind his back, frowning down at him.

"Carlsberg," the tracker growled, startling Steve to conciousness. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I'm fine. Just dandy."

Yog's face appeared in a burst of pixels, smiling as much as ever. "Steve is just sad because his friend was captured!"

Steve rolled his eyes and swiped a hand at Yog's hologram, displacing the pixels for only a fraction of a second. "I told you not to say anything, Yog. But, yes, he is right. An old friend and accomplice of mine was recently captured."

"The scientist," the tracker muttered, piecing the puzzle together.

He nodded. "The one and only. If I hadn't had the bright idea to start a rebellion against the Shadow Government, he would have lived a happy life with a wife and daughter."

"The past is past," the tracker intoned. "Time is thrall to none."

"Sometimes, I wish you weren't right all the time," Steve moaned, covering his face with his hands.

"Incoming transmission!" Yog cried suddenly, repeating itself until the tracker pressed a random button on the keyboard. The monitor went black for a moment before switching back on to show a face covered by a raised collar and brown fedora. Only his eyes could be seen, two white holes on an otherwise black canvas.

The world around Steve seemed to fall still as the man before him began to speak, his words filling the silence that filled his ears. When the screen flickered about to its orginal image and time moved again, a grin shined on Steve Carlsberg's face.

The cards were in his favor once again.


	4. I've become part of the problem now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Jesus, this took too long to write. If it wasn't for my boyfriend, I probably would've never been able to finish. The first two parts were written after chapter 3 was published, but I was under a great deal of stress, mostly due to eating problems I've been having because of my ibuprofen (don't worry, we've taken care of it).
> 
> The next chapter will be about Javier and Kevin, seeing as I've been planning to develop Desert Bluffs for so long that they deserve it. Not sure when I will write/publish it, but I hope to get it out soon.
> 
> Also, the depictions of Desert Bluffs/Cecil, Kevin, and Javier are not my most preferred headcanons. I do hope to do a fic solely about my headcanon DB in the future.
> 
> Chapter title from The Most Trustworthy Tin Cans by Maps & Atlases
> 
> EDIT: Fixing some typos I'm seeing around here. 
> 
> Also I had planned for there to be a point system, like in an anime I once marathoned, Deadman Wonderland, but those plans were decided upon very early in development and promptly forgotten. I will try and explain the clothing, geography, and employment system of the prison, but, for now, that will all be explained through a separate document when I get the time/am feeling not as horrible.

"So, Prisoner 24059-N, it's been three weeks since your integration into the facility," the secret policeman across from him said, holding a manila folder stuffed with papers in his hands. "How are you enjoying your stay so far?"

"You say that like I'm on vacation," Carlos grumbled to himself, receiving a smack on the head from an angel behind him.

The officer frowned up at him and flipped a page in his folder. "Says here you've been doing some experiments, got yourself a small following to help you out. That right?"

Carlos snorted, earning himself another smack. "Please, 24059-N, we are just asking some questions," the officer sighed, rubbing his temples through the balaclava that covered his face. "I want to be here as much as you do, but that's my fuckin' job. If it were up to me, I'd be home with my little girl, throwin' a birthday party."

The scientist studied the policeman with a scowl. "Fine," he growled after some time. "Yes, I have a small group of prisoners helping me. We're just trying to help the others deal with the shit that goes on here."

The officer nodded, marking something in the folder with a quill dipped in ketchup, before asking another question. It went on like this for a few minutes, as though it were just an interview or small talk.

"Last question, 24059-N: What is your relationship with Cecil Palmer?"

Carlos frowned and looked down at his cuffed hands, trying to gather his thoughts. What was his relationship with that guy? All he knew about this Cecil character was that he was a radio host with an obsessive crush on him. Carlos didn't even know what he looked like, yet he sent him gifts all the time; new clothing to replace the jumpsuit he had come in with, scientific equipment far beyond his ability to use, and other things like that.

"I... don't know," he replied, startled by his own honesty. "I don't even know what the guy looks like, yet he's confessing his love for me on the radio."

The officer smirked beneath his balaclava and chuckled to himself. "You'd be surprised; you pass by him all the time. Pretty normal looking guy, if you can get past his eyes and those tattoos."

The officer rose from his chair and stretched before removing Carlos's cuffs. "Well, thank you Prisoner 24059-N for your cooperation. You may continue your experiments, so long as you do not breach any forbidden areas or break any laws."

"How old is your daughter?" Carlos asked suddenly, staring out absentmindedly as he rubbed his wrists.

"She turns 12 today. Why?"

"How long has it been since you last saw her?"

The scientist received no answer-- only the sound of a door slamming shut.

\---

Tamika Flynn sat on the bench outside the facade of the communal cafeteria, disguised as Big Rico's Pizza, smacking a wad of gum. In one hand, she twirled a silver revolver around one finger, and, in the other, she held a half empty pouch of juice.

The young lady watched the street silently, memorizing every detail of every person, car, and non-corporeal thing that passed.

A few days after Carlos had "moved" into his apartment, Tamika became a fixture in this spot, like a statue. Her family wasn't at all concerned, of course; she always did this.

When asked why she sat there, she would grin and say, "I'm gonna be the sheriff one day, and ain't no one gonna stop me."

Nobody had the heart to tell her otherwise. She was a big girl; she would figure it out for herself one day.

Around noon, a black SUV pulls up and Night Vale's newest resident is shoved unceremoniously out an open door, coughing as the tires draw up a cloud of dust.

For the first time in hours, Tamika Flynn gives up her stoic guise and laughs. Carlos scowls at the child as he gets to his feet and joins her side.

"So, mister scientist man," Tamika croons in an accent not unlike someone from the Caribbean, "how was your visit with the Secret Police?"

"Fuckin' dandy," he sighs. "They took me in to review my 'progress'. Like they couldn't just drop by and just ask."

Tamika shrugged. "Some people just have a flair for the dramatic. But," she added, leaning forward with her chin in her hands, "have you been listening to the radio lately?"

Carlos paused for a moment. "The radio? No, I haven't. Why?"

The girl rolled her eyes at him. "Do you really think they brought you in for no reason? Cecil's been talking non-stop about you!"

There's that name again. "Who's this Cecil person? What does he have to do with me?"

The look in Tamika's eyes sent a shiver down the scientist's spine.

"Everything."

\---

If you haven't figured it out already, or are just too stupid to realize by yourself, Old Woman Josie is the Warden of the Night Vale Correction Facility; just as her mother before her, and her grandmother before her.

The position of the Warden is one that is passed down from generation to generation. When Josie dies, her next-in-line will take over for her.

Which is exactly her problem.

The Sheriff stared at her from across the table, his face expressionless as the elderly woman knits angerly. Cecil sat between the two, unsure of where to rest his darting eyes and fidgeting nervously.

"Madam Warden," the Sheriff's robotic voice said. "Tell me your thoughts."

Josie's knitting was thrown to the ground with an echoing clatter, making the radio host squeak in fear. Josie was on her feet in a second, seething in anger and looking ready to tear out the Sheriff's throat.

"My thoughts? What good will that do?! No matter how much I could protest, you and your bastard men would just have me re-educated! If you had any balls, any fucking self-respect, you wouldn't have told me your plans. You would've spared yourself seeing the agony of an old woman and just taken her your own damn selves. You... you... oh, God..."

Cecil's violet eyes were on the brink of tears as he watched the Warden crumble back into her seat, her face hidden beneath her flowing grey hair.

The Sheriff, however, was not so sympathetic. "Madam, you should be honored that your granddaughter has been chosen. She will be doing Night Vale a service far greater than you or I could ever dream of."

"Damn Night Vale," the woman sobbed quietly. "Damn it to hell and back."

"Watch your tongue, Warden," the Sheriff whispered, his expression unidentifiable through the balaclava that covered his face.

"Um, may I interject?" Cecil said meekly, wincing at the loudness of his own voice. "Josie, you remember when I was chosen, right? Dana, Earl Harlan, and I were in your garden, building a cake in the mud?"

The old woman smiled and the Sheriff stifled a chuckle.

"Yes, I do. The cows had organized a worker's union for better pay, so there was absolutely no milk or dairy products in the entire town. You three were covered head-to-toe in mud when Leonard and I found you," she added with a grin, "I almost mistook you for swamp monster."

Cecil laughed. "Earl nearly fainted when he saw you coming at us with those shears!" he giggled, mimicking the expression his friend had made.  
  
When their laughter died down, Cecil continued. "Anyways, what I'm trying to say is that you should be as happy as you were then when you heard the news. She's wanted this for so long; she'll be delighted to know she's been chosen."

The Warden glanced between the two men and smiled. "Fine," she sighed, rolling her eyes at Cecil's giddy expression. "But I'm not going to break the news. I'll leave that honor to you."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Cecil cried, pulling the old woman in to a hug. "You won't regret this! Dana is going to be the best Voice Night Vale has ever seen!"

\---

Cecil. Cecil. _Cecil._

Carlos couldn't get the name out of his head as he searched desperately for the crumpled letter the strange man had sent him. His living room was a warzone by the time he gave up his efforts, replacing cushions and decorations haphazardly before throwing himself on the couch.

A vintage television set that sat a few feet from him flickered to life, warbling slightly as the volume was turned up. The Faceless Old Woman hovered just above the dials, her etheral form swaying in an unknown breeze.

The familiar tunes of Cat Ballou filled the room, calming Carlos as he became enraptured in the film he'd seen many times before. Half-way through, a paper fell in his lap, tearing his eyes away from the screen. On it was a phone number with the word "CECIL" written on top.

Silently, Carlos thanked the Faceless Old Woman, entering the number into his phone's contacts and typing up a message. Before he could lose his nerve, Carlos pressed the send button.

That was his second mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> Even on my death bed, I'm still trying to think of some witty tagline to redirect you to [my blog.](http://bunbunrulestheworld.tumblr.com/)


End file.
